


I Wish the Goblins Would Come and Take Professor Snape Away, Right Now

by Unknown_Kadath



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Can it be a tribute fic if it's also crack?, Crack, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 13:23:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5786701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unknown_Kadath/pseuds/Unknown_Kadath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pretty much what it says on the tin.  With a Monty Python reference thrown in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Wish the Goblins Would Come and Take Professor Snape Away, Right Now

**Hour One:**

 

“But why did you have to _say_ it, Neville?” asked Hermione, for the umpteenth time.

“I didn’t think it was real,” sniffed Neville, as he had told her before, and as he had told Jareth the Goblin King (and what kind of name was “Jareth” for a Goblin, anyway, thought Hermione). “I didn’t mean it. I didn’t think it would actually _happen._ ”

“Lay off, Hermione,” said Ron, looking around. “Let’s just concentrate on _finding_ the greasy git so we can go home. Or,” he suggested without much hope, “let’s _not_ find him.”

“Ron!”

“All right, all right … I’m just saying, we don’t have to try that hard, you know, just so we can say we did, and—”

“Ronald Weasley!”

“Guys,” said Harry. “We only have thirteen hours. Maybe we should get going.”

“Fine,” said Ron. “Where’s the door, then?”

“Honestly, Ron,” said Hermione, “do we look like we know?”

“Uh …” Neville pointed.

The other three turned. Directly behind them on the blank stone wall they’d been walking along for the first twenty minutes of their precious time was a door that had definitely not been there a moment ago.

“That’s convenient,” said Harry.

“Too convenient,” said Hermione.

“Yeah, let’s stay out here,” said Ron.

Hermione glared at him. Harry ignored them both and tried the door. It opened easily, and he stepped cautiously inside. “It looks okay so far,” he said. “Come on. We have to get moving.”

Ron sighed but trooped along with the others. “Wonder how Snape’s getting on,” he mused.

“Don’t tell me you’re worried about him,” said Harry.

Ron shrugged. “Nah. I just thought, him and that Jareth, seems like they deserve each other.”

 

**Hour Two** :

 

The silence had been awkward, punctuated by sour glances and squabbling goblins. And squawking chickens. Why, wondered Snape, were there chickens?

His wand had been taken, of course. Jareth might have some magic of his own—not to be underestimated, unfortunately—but he also had the presence of mind to disarm his captive.

Snape's brooding, black-robed presence had seemed to have a quelling effect, for a time, which he spent sneering down his nose at the grubby little creatures, or across at the King in his silvery cape. Not much of a kingdom to be king _of,_ really, with these cretins for subjects.

The silence had been awkward. It was golden compared to the conversation.

“Do tell me, Slanderous,” began Jareth.

“Severus,” said Snape. “Although you may call me Professor Snape.”

“Professor Ape,” agreed Jareth with a wave of his hand. A muscle twitched in Snape’s cheek. “What kind of a man is wished away so desperately by his students? I must confess I’m used to younger … guests.”

“Yes,” agreed Snape, “I’m sure the younger children are more easily impressed by your kingdom of … chickens.” He nudged a bird with the toe of his shoe and it fluttered off to land on a goblin’s helmet. The goblin was very small, the chicken exceptionally fat; they overbalanced with a comical wheeling of arms and wings and crashed to the floor.

“I must say, the children seemed singularly unenthused about securing your release.”

Snape raised an eyebrow. The idea of depending on the competence, let alone the good will, of Potter, Granger, Weasley, and, Merlin forbid, Longbottom—well, it was something he didn’t want to dwell on. Or allow Jareth to muse on.

Without his wand, which was currently resting on the arm of Jareth's throne, he was somewhat limited in his options. Most of those options were in various vials in his pockets, and he awaited an opportunity to make best use of them.

“And you believe I can be so easily imprisoned that I must rely on students for my freedom?” he asked. “I doubt you have much experience imprisoning wizards. If you normally restrict yourself to infants …”

“True,” said Jareth, scowling in irritation. “You are rather old to be turned into a Goblin. Although I may make the effort anyway—it can only improve your appearance.”

“And perhaps as an infant I'll find your attempts at wit more amusing—although I don’t hold out much hope.”

 

**Hour Three:**

 

“It’s rearranging itself.”

“I’m sure it isn’t.”

“Look, isn’t that one of the stones you drew an arrow on?”

“Yes …”

“Why is it moving?”

“That does it, if I get out of here, I’m NEVER taking directions from a talking worm ever again.”

 

**Hour Four:**

 

There had been another lapse into silence. The Goblin King had gone to his window and seemingly spied on the progress of the children from afar—apparently it had been poor enough to offer some amusement. Then he had grown bored and returned to his throne, calling a goblin for wine.

“Oh, forgive my manners,” said Jareth, with false concern. He gave Snape a toothy grin. “You must be getting hungry. Ah!” He produced one of his crystal balls, rolled it across his hand, and was suddenly holding a peach. He proffered it to Snape.

Snape hesitated. Then he pulled his mouth into a smile smaller but no more cordial than Jareth’s, and reached out (coincidentally over Jareth’s goblet) to take it.

He began, slowly, to raise it to his mouth, watching Jareth raise the goblet. Jareth watched the peach.

They both halted, goblet and peach half-raised.

“Perhaps,” said Jareth casually, “you would care for some wine, as well.”

“Perhaps,” said Snape, “you would care to sample my peach. As a gesture of goodwill.”

“I find I’m not hungry,” demurred Jareth.

“Nor am I thirsty,” said Snape.

Jareth tossed the peach aside, where it was promptly eaten by a goblin who fell over as if poleaxed and floated away in a magical soap-bubble which resembled one of Jareth’s crystals.

Wondering where it went, Snape set down the goblet. Aother goblin promptly snatched it up and drank, in defiance of experience, logic, and all sanity, and fell over as if poleaxed. And broke out in warts. Which, considering it was already covered in warts, was hideous in the extreme.

Jareth glared at Snape. Snape merely raised an eyebrow, and strolled over to the window. He still had that mysterious bottle he’d confiscated from the Weasley twins, if all else failed.

Knowing them, it would be pure, distilled chaos.

 

**Hour Five:**

 

“Great, just great,” said Ron, peering over the edge. The door they’d emerged from had vanished behind them. “How are we supposed to get down from _this_ , Hermione? You should have said _down_.”

Neville looked at the drop, turned a greenish color, and stepped back.

“Well, you weren’t complaining when you needed someone to work out the doorkeepers’ riddle!” snapped Hermione. “Oh, Hermione, you’re the clever one, you pick the door! Oh, Hermione, you’re clever, you decide up or down! And when it all goes wrong …”

Harry looked down at the Labyrinth far below them and wished for a broom. And wondered why they hadn’t been able to see this tower from below. Definitely like Hogwarts, then—architecture that rearranged itself. But only when most inconvenient.

 

**Hour Six:**

 

Jareth swatted a canary out of his path and ran up the stairs of the east tower after the fleeing wizard.

It had been in the beer, he’d realized quickly—and where else? Anyone taking even the most superficial of glances at the behavior of the goblins would see that at once. He was still unsure _how,_ exactly, Snape had managed to … was _drug_ the right word? _Poison_ seemed somehow too dignified for what had happened.

They hadn’t stopped drinking after the first few had turned into birds, oh, no. Some of them seemed to drink faster, in fact, hooting and howling with laughter until it turned into chirps. Goblins … unreliable, stupid, ugly even as twittering songbirds, and utterly useless. He’d ordered them to stop (always useless, when beer was concerned) and knocked the barrel to the floor, smashing it. To no avail—the disgusting little fools had rushed forward as one and begun lapping it up.

A number of the chickens had drunk from the puddle as well. It was difficult to tell them apart now, except that a few of the canaries had coxcombs and crowed, and a few others were fluttering around in the cages of the helmets they’d been wearing.

And somehow, in the commotion, Snape had made his exit.

No matter. It seemed to be wearing off quickly (not that he cared, and not that it really made the goblins much more useful) and Snape wouldn’t get far. Jareth, after all, was master of this place and could appear where he chose—or reorder the architecture to suit his purposes.

Nonetheless, he decided, if Snape were to undergo a few changes of his own, it might make him a more … manageable guest.

 

**Hour Seven:**

 

“Ow, ow, ow …”

“STUPEFY!”

“Ow, ow, ow …”

Hermione, Ron, and Harry put their wands away and began prying open the fingers of the hands that still clung to Neville’s ears. They’d stopped trying to pull his head off when the spell hit them, but hadn’t loosened their grip.

Ron picked up an orange-furred disembodied arm. It was completely bloodless, but he still grimaced and dropped it again, wiping his hands on his trousers.

“Do you think they’ll be all right?” asked Hermione anxiously. “Do you think we should try to put them back together again?”

“They were doing fine like this _before_ we Stunned them,” said Harry. He pushed a hand against a wrist and watched as they fell apart again. Either it was the wrong hand or the Fieries had to be conscious to join up again. “Anyway,” he said, “there’s no time. They’ll just have to sort themselves out when they wake up.”

 

**Hour Eight:**

 

“You know,” said Jareth, bouncing the screaming baby in his arms, “I’m sure I’ve never seen an infant with a hooked nose before. Were you really born like that have I gotten sloppy with my magic?”

The baby in his arms was a most unappealing thing. Sallow skin and bitter black eyes, and what little hair it had seemed less downy than greasy. Its voice, when it cried, grated on the ears as well.

“You gonna make baby into goblin?” asked one of his subjects, and hiccupped a mouthful of yellow feathers. That seemed to be subsiding. Pity, it was an entertaining side effect.

“Perhaps not,” said Jareth. “He’s so ugly already, I’m not sure how to make him look worse. Well, laugh!” he added, when the goblins didn’t show sufficient appreciation of his wit.

He smiled wickedly at the child. It glared back.

“You know,” said Jareth, “you remind me of the babe …”

 

**Hour Nine:**

 

“If we get out of this,” said Ron, grunting with effort and clinging to the branch with a white-knuckled grip, “don’t tell Fred and George. They’ll never forgive me for not bringing back samples. They’ll send me _back_ for samples.”

“Ugh!” said Hermione. “I think it’s a little strong for stinkbombs, don’t you?”

“ _They_ wouldn’t!”

Beneath their feet, the bog glooped eagerly at them.

“If Neville doesn’t find Ludo soon,” said Harry, gagging slightly, “you won’t have to take a sample back—we’ll be _wearing_ it!”

 

**Hour Ten:**

 

Snape, restored to his adult self, sat scowling. Not directly at Jareth—he didn’t want to give the Goblin King the satisfaction—but at the world in general. Jareth also scowled, out over the squabbling mess of goblins. He’d managed to magic the spit-up off his cape. Mostly. Snape hadn’t managed to get the song out of his head yet, but not for lack of trying, and he certainly wasn’t about to let Jareth have the satisfaction of knowing _that._

Jareth seemed to grow bored of ignoring him. “Ah, Septimus,” he sighed, voice dripping with false concern. “You seem such an unhappy man. I could change that.”

“Oh?” asked Snape. He had no interest in whatever it was, but Jareth’s ludicrous schemes would be far less boring to listen to than the jabber of goblins.

Jareth produced a crystal with a flourish. “I can offer you so much,” he purred. “All you need to do is accept. Imagine a world where your greatest regrets are undone, your greatest wish … at your fingertips.”

The image of a woman’s face appeared in the glass. Red hair. Green eyes.

For a moment, Snape was tempted. He raised his hand without thinking, even though he knew as he did so that if he touched the crystal Potter and his friends would likely retrieve nothing but a mindless husk of their professor, if anything remained of him at all. (And if they ever arrived …)

But dreams were dreams, and what was done was done.

He grasped the Goblin King’s wrist instead of the glass, and concentrated. The face in the crystal became that of an even younger woman. Her eyes were still green, but her hair was dark.

“If your dreams could match reality, your highness,” he said pointedly, “why not live in them yourself?”

Jareth locked eyes with him and they glared at each other over the image for a moment. Then he wrenched his hand away and flung the crystal at the wall, where it shattered into a puff of glitter. The goblins cheered and began to dance in it, oblivious.

 

**Hour Eleven:**

 

Hoggle turned the key in the lock, stepped back, and waited a moment. “Here it comes …” he muttered, chuckling.

“Hey! This is locked! He _lied_ to us!” “Hoggle! Hoggle!” “Please, you have to let us out!” “Yeah, get back here, you lying little—”

“Now, now,” he chided. “You mind your manners.”

He bustled away, whistling. A determined pounding started up behind the door. Not that he thought they could get out, but he did have work to do.

Jareth would be pleased with him for once.

Speaking of Jareth …

“Ah, there you are, Higgle.”

Hoggle closed his eyes a moment, and took a deep breath before he turned around. It wasn’t wise to lose one’s temper with a being of Jareth’s power. Or capriciousness.

“It’s _Hoggle_ ,” he said. He was pretty sure Jareth knew this already, but it had to be said. Again.

Jareth shrugged and waved the protest aside. Now that Hoggle saw him, he looked slightly less regal, slightly less arrogant than usual. There were little yellow feathers stuck to his boots and a discolored patch where his cape draped over his shoulder, as if he’d tried to clean something off of it and nearly, but not quite, succeeded. And his hair looked slightly less deliberately spiky and slightly more as if he’d been running his fingers through it in exasperation, or trying to pull it out.

He also looked less amused than annoyed. Jareth amused, considering the things that amused him, could be very bad news. Jareth annoyed was probably worse.

“They’re all safely locked up, just like you told me to do!” squawked Hoggle. “They won’t be getting to that castle no way, no how, not before their time’s up!”

“Then I suggest you let them out again at once, and lead them to the city!” snapped Jareth. “There’s no time to lose. If they aren’t in my throne room before the clock strikes thirteen, it’s the bog for you.”

“But I thought—”

“Are you questioning me, Hogwarts?”

“Ahh … no, no, not me. I'll go get them right away.”

Hoggle started back for the door, trying to think up a way to stop those kids from blasting him with their magic sticks long enough to convince them that this time he really _was_ going to help them, and muttering under his breath, “It’s _Hoggle_ …”

 

**Hour Twelve:**

 

“Dance, dance magic dance—”

There was only so much a man, any man, could endure. Decades of playing double agent, concealing his true thoughts, his very heart, from Voldemort himself, that was child’s play. Sitting through yet another musical recital from the Goblin King and his subjects … no. That was too much.

“Enough,” said Snape. “ENOUGH!”

“What kind of magic spell to use—”

The cavorting King carried on as if Snape simply hadn’t bellowed.

Enough was enough. Heedless of the dangers, of the defenses and counter-magics Jareth undoubtedly possessed, Snape snatched up his wand from where it had been left carelessly unattended. “I warn you …” he growled through his clenched teeth.

 

**Hour Thirteen:**

 

The four students stumbled into the throne room. They were hot, tired, bruised, sweaty (but fortunately free from Eternal Stench), and thoroughly fed up at having spent thirteen hours fighting their way through a magical maze to rescue someone they frankly didn’t want to see ever again.

Granted, the last stretch of the journey had been anticlimactic. A small, twittering goblin had opened the city gates for them as they walked up and escorted them through the crooked streets to the castle they could see beyond—with no attempts to delay them whatsoever. When they’d arrived, the guards had ushered them right in.

Bit suspicious, really.

And here they were, in the nick of time.

“Oh, _no_ …” groaned Harry, looking around the throne room. “Now what?”

Chickens. Nothing _but_ chickens.

“Where is he?” asked Hermione desperately. “Where? He was supposed to be here. There’s nobody here but …”

Chickens. On closer inspection, not all of the chickens looked quite normal. Some of them wore bits of goblin armor—these tended to be exceptionally ugly. A few others were unarmored but looked distinctly goblinish. And over by the throne itself …

There was a chicken with mismatched eyes and a crest of spiky blond feathers at the base of the throne, wearing a tiny silver cape. And leggings. Next to it was a black chicken, with a crest of black feathers that looked somehow greasy, and an exceptionally large beak. A wizard’s wand lay on the floor between them, and they both looked (as much as chickens could manage expressions) incredibly pissed off.

The blond chicken went _poof!_ and shot up into the glowering form of Jareth the Goblin King. “A fine showing from the wizards!” he sneered. “All that magic, and only just in time. Now say your right words, or your darling professor is mine forever!”

“Well, he’s not exactly our _darling_ ,” said Ron.

Hermione elbowed him and turned to Neville. “Well, go on! Say it before the time runs out, we can un-chicken him later!”

“Uh, uh,” said Neville. “Uh, I didn’t know there were more words, all I remembered was the first part of the story …”

Harry groaned and put a hand over his face. “Great …”

The greasy chicken pecked at the fallen wand. There was another _poof,_ and Snape stood before them, scowling down at Neville, who cringed. “Typical. Exactly the sort of incompetence I’ve learned to expect from Gryffindor’s … finest.”

“Oh, for goodness sake,” said Jareth, rolling his eyes, “’Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered—‘”

“Through … through hardships …” stammered Neville, shaking his leg to get rid of a particularly warty chicken that was pecking his ankle. He did not seem to be able to string together a coherent sentence under Snape’s baleful glare. “Sorry, what is it again?”

“And why are you helping us?” demanded Harry.

“Because if you fools don’t finish this properly, I’ll be saddled with _him_ for the rest of his life,” said Jareth, gesturing at Snape. “Rest assured I will make it a short life. However …”

“I suggest you pull yourself together, Longbottom,” snapped Snape, “or any points remaining to Gryffindor after this fiasco will be subtracted.”

“We have to get back to the Castle before you can take any points,” said Harry. And as an afterthought, “ _Sir._ ”

A clock began to strike thirteen. “Hurry!” screamed Hermione.

“Skip to the end!” said Jareth desperately. “And stop scowling at the boy, Spitonus. “’For my will is as strong as yours—’”

“ _Severus_!” growled Snape.

“Say it, Neville!” said Hermione.

“Are we sure we can trust him?” asked Ron.

“SHUT UP!” bellowed Harry. He’d lost count of how many chimes had already sounded. Then he added, “except you, Neville.”

“F-for my will is as strong as yours,” managed Neville, to everyone’s surprise.

“’And my kingdom as great …” said Jareth, looking strained.

“And my kingdom as great …”

“’And you have no power over me,’ say it, boy!”

“And you have no power over me,” finished Neville in a rush, looking dubious. “But is that really true? I mean, you can’t just _say_ —”

True or not, or whether Jareth had seized on the excuse to send them home anyway, the throne room was dissolving around them as though the final chimes of the clock were shaking it to pieces. For a moment, they seemed suspended in space. Then even that fell away and they were in the familiar, if unwelcoming, confines of Snape’s dungeon. The last of their classmates were filing out the door, and Harry, Ron, Hermione and Neville were waiting in front of Snape’s desk waiting to turn in sample vials of their work. Neville’s was a putrid green color, and Harry could see why he’d wished Snape away rather than face whatever comments might be forthcoming.

Snape was restored to his place as well, though with lingering feathers clinging to his robes. He rose from his seat and loomed over the desk at them like a thundercloud. His jaw worked, presumably as he tried to think up something suitably horrible to say.

“Sir,” said Harry quickly, “we did get you back. And it was an accident. And …”

“And we haven’t been gone any time at all …” said Hermione.

“So … technically, it didn’t really happen?” said Ron. It came out as a frightened squeak at the end but Harry gave him points for effort.

Neville cringed.

“I could take every last point from Gryffindor for this,” said Snape in a low growl.

“Of course,” said Hermione, “then everybody would want to know _why_ , wouldn’t they? And we’d have to tell them. _All of it._ ”

Snape clenched his teeth together. For a moment, they could hear the grinding.

“Not a word to anyone,” he ground out at last. “And detention for all four of you, until _every last speck of glitter_ has been removed from this classroom. Understood?”

“Understood,” mumbled the four children. “See if we bring you back next time,” added Ron under his breath.

 

It was pretty understandable, thought Harry. And all in all, they’d gotten off lightly. Didn’t mean he’d appreciated scrubbing magic glitter with a toothbrush for five hours, but still.

He dropped the brush back into the bucket for the last time, and exchanged a look of relief with the others. Then he noticed a pair of eyes peering at him from under a desk.

Craning his neck, he saw three goblins and a chicken. All of them, even the bird, had a guilty look. The look of people Up To No Good.

Harry opened his mouth to say something. Then he shut it again. “We’re all done, Professor Snape,” he called.

After all, he reasoned, Snape had only told them to clean up the glitter. Any further mess was _his_ concern, not Harry’s.

 


End file.
